Wholesome
by 1Past and Present1
Summary: A little Old Western town is torn apart from within by violence, passions, perversions and an undercurrent of corruption. A mysterious newcomer, apparently after the local hero's blood, witnesses the gradual unravel of people he might learn to care about. Slash, Femmeslash.
1. Entry

Hi, everyone.

I gave up writing fanfics for a long time. This is my timid return. I may be a bit rusty. Also, I am finishing this at after two in the morning.

Please forgive my representation of accents. I've always been useless at them. I'll try my best not to break the immersion, but please feel free to point out slippages .

As always, concrit is greatly appreciated and needed.

Femmeslash and slash warning.

Thank you and enjoy.

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><p><strong>One<strong>  
><strong>Entry<strong>

"Stings."

A few muttered words, unintelligible.

"Ouch."

He's talking to himself again. A habit likely gained from wandering about the wasteland on his own terms, with only himself for company, for so long. It rarely bothers him. He never says much.

"That damn… son of a..." His breaths come out short and raspy as he wills himself over a dirt mound, forced to navigate the rocks and dry, crackling weeds near-blind. From this vantage point, however, he can see lights not too far off.

A settlement. Normally, he'd avoid those.

_But he must be there. He can't have gotten far. _He grimaces. _When I get my hands on that varmint…_

That cocky smile taunts him into motion.

He stumbles down the mound, toward the lights. He finds their source to be, from what he can discern, a wood and dirt town, lit romantically by the moon and lanterns.

He feels like a ghost. The bobbing lights, his effort to be invisible to any of the guards or townsfolk up at this time of night.

He searches.

_I'll find him, but first… Where is the clinic?_

He's deathly tired. Considers approaching one of the few men milling about, but fears spending the rest of the night in a jail cell. And what might come after that. He desists.

"Can't risk – ugh." Gasping from pain and physical exertion, he manages to shake his head at his own folly whilst taking another sharp corner. _I said that aloud. Damn. That's the fourth time tonight._

A sharp, cruel laugh makes him halt. It's followed by whimpers and the scraping of a stool or chair, then of heavy, dragging feet.

A man's voice. Gravelly.

"Aw! Please, Rouge. Y'know how I feel 'bout ya."

A woman's. Husky.

"Sheriff, as much as I'd love to, the scandal would ruin you."

A pause.

More quietly she then adds, "And me, for that matter."

"Just… one night. Thasall I ask of ya." Fatty. Drunkenly pleading.

"I have a headache. Go home to your wife." Husky. Soberly amused. Or unamused. It's impossible to tell for certain.

An overweight man with a round head totters out the swinging doors of what must be the local saloon. His slurring makes his words stick.

"Yer no fun, no fun atall. Know what yer problem is? D'ya?"

"Goodnight, Sheriff."

"Right. I'll… jus' be goin' then."

The man waddles off, grumbling about what her problem is.

The gunshot visitor, on the fringe of exhaustion and hearing no other voices, risks it. Bent over, he limps to the still swinging doors and pushes. He cautiously passes the threshold, finding a dimly lit, expansive establishment littered with tables. Comfortable, if a little too suave for his tastes.

"Hello, handsome."

Startled, he notices the white bat behind the bar, polishing glasses. With her not quite blue, not quite green eyes impassively fixated on his entrance. Like she noticed him before he actually appeared. Judging by the ears, she surely heard him coming. Instantly he feels a little wary of her.

Those eyes are cold. They give him the shivers. Or, at least the breeze does. Perhaps it's the blood loss.

"Sorry to disappoint you, angel," she coos, a little patronising, a little flirtatious, an edge serious. Her voice identifies her as Rouge. "Closing time. Come back tomorrow." Not entirely unfriendly, not entirely polite. A voice and manner that, he figures from some personal experience, must've broken many hearts. Apparently the Sheriff's, also.

"S'cuse me, Ma'am," the visitor answers in his monotone.

She looks him over. His appearance does not intimidate her, since she's dealt with rough men before, and the way he regards her isn't as savage as his colouring. If she's honest with herself, he's not an eyesore, even hunched over. She's aware that something is wrong.

He takes off his leather hat, as well as removes the gloved hand that had previously hid the bullet's entry. "I, uh, need medical attention," he says, speaking more softly. "Couldn't find the clinic. Pardon."

She doesn't move quickly enough to stop him from falling ungracefully onto her cleanly scrubbed, polished floor, bleeding profusely enough to alarm anyone of softer constitution. As it is, she's dealt with enough bloodied rough men before now to grow desensitised.

She picks him up off the floor and carries him upstairs like a bride, gruffly rebuking the stranger for his apparent idiocy all the while.

* * *

><p><em>Now there's a man I wouldn't mind propositioning me. <em>

It's before opening time.

Sitting at his bedside, she sips the same alcohol she used to dress his wound. The light of morning filters softly through the curtains. It illuminates her snowy pelt, making her glow, but the rays are somehow absorbed within his black quills, making the bizarre red streaks stand out brilliantly, like war paint. A black and red halo squashed beneath his slack, reclining frame.

A bit of saliva glistens from the corner of his slightly pursed mouth.

Aside from this detail, she finds him keenly attractive. She thinks he looks dangerous. She has an infamous penchant for danger. And a more private penchant for dangerous men. She also knows who he is, since his face is on at least one of the wanted posters plastered about town. _Can't forget a face like that one._

Not in her saloon, of course. She refuses to advertise bounties. Considering her own past, she's willing to forgive a man for his. She wouldn't want people digging bullets out of her skull. Taking an ear or a finger for proof, or as a memento.

Her eyes momentarily flicker as she looks at the box on her desk, then flicker once more as she returns her attention to him. _Mementos. Glory days._

He dreams for some time.

She checks his stiches with a cursory prod, nodding her approval. _Bastard slept through the whole thing. Wouldn't wake up if I leapt on his–_

He stirs in the bed.

A wry smile._ Too late. Pity I'm so virtuous._

Lashes flutter as his red eyes groggily reveal themselves, slightly bloodshot.

"Well, howdy."

His brows arch with alarm. He stiffens, his fierce glare darting from a dimly confused regard of the ceiling to regard her more sharply, his confusion turning hostile.

She's unbothered. Most things unbother Rouge.

"Mornin' there, sunshine."

He recognises her voice. Then, her cold eyes. Finally, her face. An exceptionally lovely, if somewhat dispassionate face. "Y-you…" _The batwoman at the bar. _"Rouge."

Raises a brow. "That's me. How you feelin'?"

"Fine." He manages to sit up. Notices the stitches.

"My handiwork. It's not pretty, but it'll hold."

"Thanks. I don't have much money."

"Keep it. Consider it a, heh, a gift."

He's surprised. She doesn't appear to be the charitable type, at least, he suspects that she has some ulterior motive. What it could be he does not care to know. "Much obliged, Ma'am."

"Just Rouge is fine, thank you."

"Fine. Rouge."

"So." She leans back in her chair with a smirk that's decidedly debauched. "Judgin' by that wound and the dirt in your boots, I'd say you'd been wanderin' with that bullet rattlin' around inside you for some time. You just passin' through our humble little town?"

"Yes." A man of few words. He swings his legs off of the bed and stands. "Where am I?"

"My saloon, and the closest thin' we've got to a clinic. I'm the owner of both and the closest thin' we've got to a, heh, a doctor. Our town is deep up the ass end of nowhere. That's where we are, really."

"I see."

"Goin' to introduce your handsome self?"

"No," he says, able to tell that she's the type who'll respect secrecy, even if it's demanded of her a little rudely.

"Suit yourself. Say, I've seen your face somewhere." Raises a long, masculine finger. It's tipped with a curving claw, much like glass. She taps it lightly to her strong jaw, her eyeteeth glimmering. "On a wanted poster in town. You're a man on the run. A bad man."

_This broad is playin' games._ His face seems to naturally settle into a frown. A perpetual frowner.

"Relax, handsome. I don't squeal because unlike those sweet gossip mills on legs, I don't care." She chuckles amiably. "I'll just end up callin' you No-Name. Alright with that?"

"Catchy."

Closes her eyes. Her makeup is heavy. "No-Name it is, then."

He turns to peer out the window. A few bobbing heads.

"I'd grab a drink and head for the hills shortly if I were you. That, or you could stay out of sight, No-Name, if you feel like stickin' around for a while." She's opens her eyes to study his profile. _My, my._

He doesn't notice.

"The town may be deep in the ass end, but it's an interestin' enough ass to be deep in." _Not half as interestin' as yours._ "If you're worried, you could also try makin' friends with the local, heh, law enforcement. Hear he's willin' to negotiate if you give him what he wants."

"Y'say you own this saloon and you're the doctor. So, y'know these townsfolks."

"That's right. Don't much care, but there's not a face I don't have drawn down."

He pulls away from the glass, sensing his attention being directed elsewhere.

The walls are covered with paper.

He moves to study a page, then another and another. Detailed drawings of various people he does not know. Not intended to flatter. The desk is a disarray of things an artist would need, the chaos broken by a neat metallic black box.

A small safe.

"Who you lookin' for?"

He moves around her, her eyes following the graceful motions of his taut, angular body as he slowly explores the walls from corner to corner of the modest room. His hand glides aimlessly over the faces, then settles decisively on a blue figure. "Him."

She rises to stand a little ways behind his shoulder. "Sonic?"

"Yeah." Lip curls. _Sonic._

"What, that kid? Shit. What'd he do? Seems to me little more than a kid with a big mouth and quite a female followin', heh, followin' his recent acts of heroism."

"Heroism?"

"Yeah. So, what're you after him for?"

"We have unfinished things…" His voice withers away. _When I get my hands on that damn kid. _"Cut out his tongue." Talking to himself again.

The bat's brow rises by a fraction. "Like I said, Sonic's popular. He's a local hero, though he just moved in a few days back. Dealt with a nasty bandit problem and rescued a girl, Cream. Ugh, god knows what they were plannin' on doin' to the poor dear. And where Sonic's concerned, I hope you're not plannin' anything murderous. That's a sure-fire way to get you unpopular, fast."

"Where can I find him?" She won't try to stop him, he knows this.

"He's a bit further downtown. In the big house. Mooching, if you ask me, off of that sweet little rich girl, Amy Rose." A disparaging hiss. "Completely infatuated, the stupid girl. She's lettin' him, heh, stay at her place until he gets settled. I'm surprised it's not bad for business, although she wishes it were."

"Son of a bitch! Cut it out and shove it down his throat."

Rouge makes a huffing sound. "You're a creepy feller, yessir."

He abruptly turns to face her. "May I hole up here for a lil' while? I'll pay."

"Yeah, hush-hush. Plenty of room. If you make it work my while."

"Here." He reaches for his belt.

Her imagination writhes in sewage as her eyes watch the descent, then the return, of his strong, blood-stained, gloved hands, disappointed to find a different sack dangling before her nose than the one she'd hoped.

"Like I said." He shrugs at her visible disappointment. "Not much."

She takes it with a shrug. "It'll cover a few days." _Ah, well. Soon enough. Though, I'm not much interested in currency, I'll consider it part of the pay. His body will, heh, fill the rest._

"So." He manages a smile. "Doctor and saloon owner."

"Yeah, it's a bit ironic, I know." She tosses the sack aside and takes up her drink. "I've got to go downstairs soon. Not safe for you to be seen wanderin' about and I've got a business to run, so go on and try to make good with the Sheriff. Don't know how you'll manage that one, but–"

"I hoped y'could do it for me."

"Ah, heh, beg your pardon?"

"Speak to the Sheriff. Y'know each other. Clear my name. Make it safe for me to walk 'round town without getting a bullet in my back." _'Less it's Sonic's._

"And if I do this, what will you give me in exchange?"

"I can kill. I'll kill for you."

"No, thanks. But..." Those blue-green eyes narrow. "Fuck me and it's a deal."

He steps back, shocked. "Wuh?"

"You heard. I don't work for free and that Sheriff is a disgustin' pig of a man."

No-Name cannot tell, but Rouge is sick of the men of the town. Sick to the point where she'd like to hunt them down and skin them. She doesn't like to admit it, since it would likely scare her customers, so she plays sweet, plays nice, and is secretly sick. She's taken to loving women. But she's growing steadily sick of them as well.

"Humph." Hides his embarrassment. He sees his hat, an excuse, hanging on a nail in the wall. Takes it, puts it on. Dark leather, soft to the touch. "Fine.

"Wonderful."

He grinds his teeth together. Something about the way she said it.

"You're going to need friends here, No-Name. Do me right and you can consider me a good friend."

He watches her pass out the corner of his eye.

She's smirking.


	2. Wealth

Thank you for the support and advice. I'm trying a more descriptive angle, with less talking. Please let me know what you think and as always, I hope you enjoy the read.

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><p><strong>Two<br>****Wealth**

Cream plucks the rare cactus flower, a bright, sunny yellow with shiny petals, using the odd little invention. "Oh, wow! It works! Thank you, Tails!"

"My pleasure! I'm glad someone likes my inventions." Self-consciously he glances at some of the bigger boys. _They'll break it if they see us…_

"How could anyone not like such good little machines? The Sheriff's robots are big and scary, but the things you make are wonderful and helpful and they never hurt anyone. I don't–"

The big boys are getting close.

He silences her with a hug. "Let's go back to your momma."

Their barks of unpleasant remarks are getting close.

He's not sure he can protect her.

The fox and rabbit laugh together, delighted after a little running in each other's company, and together they run hand-in-hand back to the loving safety of Vanilla's kneeling form.

"Momma!"

She never lets them out of hearing. Kneeling in churned earth, the rabbit looks up from her tender growing things with pleasure, knowing they're coming for her. _What a beautiful day this is shaping up to be_, she muses before their arrival. _The clear sky, such a brilliant blue, the red, dry earth where there is still life to be sown…_ "Oh, what a pretty flower."

"For you, Momma! Tails helped me pick it with this amazing… What is it called, again?"

The boy blushes and repeats the name humbly.

Vanilla fondly takes the flower and hugs the children, secretly hoping that her daughter will marry him in a few years' time so that they'll have beautiful babies together, and that he does not pull her too far from her momma, then die too early for her and leave her almost alone. The fantasy makes her happy and sad. "Why, thank you, darlings."

* * *

><p>A chuckle, a blush. Light, flirtatious touches as she leads him into the bedroom. His more clumsy, groping caresses.<p>

"Make yerself comfy now, sugar. Take yer time."

The tall man sits down on the edge of the bed. His large gloved hands, free from her hips, anxiously wring in his lap, though he tries not to show it.

She studies his discomfort, intermingled with arousal. He isn't the subtle type and she's much smarter than people give her credit for. Though, she realises, in her line of work that's the natural thing to assume. That she's stupid and empty, acting mechanically for money she doesn't need.

The shifting backs of his hands project spikes for splitting rocks and heads. They worry him in his more intimate moments. As do his genitalia. _What if I hurt her?_

They share a similar sort of private suffering. His fear of causing unintended harm, having to exile himself. Her fear of never finding love, of always having to search for it, even in old age. Both fear never being unfulfilled, of remaining lonely.

Sonic watches from a hole in the wall. Silently, his presence imposes on the couple, pressing down on her, undetected by the pair's other half.

"Okay, sugar?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine."

With his great, almost unnatural strength and temper, Knuckles usually avoids such situations, chooses to ignore his lusts and hide his budding tenderness. The distinguishing characteristic of his mysterious existence, his potent presence, his success as a guardian, is his being alone. But it's always the bane.

He is alone, but also lonely.

Amy desperately wants that something sacred. It's love, but not the kind one typically gets from a mother. With every time, she hopes she'll find it. Her quest might be misconstrued by people on the outside, but inside, she just desperately, with all her heart, wants to be loved 'like that.' Like Vanilla once was. Like the Sheriff. Her quest stretches far into her past, even before Sonic. Now that there is Sonic, she has something more than mere hope to cling to. She knows that he loves her almost enough to be sacred, but it requires something more.

Still. She is never alone, but is always lonely.

Sonic is growing impatient, she can tell.

_My Sonic does like to watch. I want to please him. He appreciates me. And Knuckles is a friend. Oh, god knows he deserves some company. To be treated nicely by a gal. And if it makes my Sonic happy… Why do I feel so cheap? _She sighs, stroking herself, waiting for the echidna to look at her. He does not. This isn't good. She glances at a picture on the wall which is slightly askew. _Please, don't be angry. I'll make you proud of me, I promise._

All the men. All the women, if she must. Amy Rose is willing to pretend to love them all for as long as it makes her Sonic happy. For the hope of his love turning sacred.

_Miss Amy is so nice to me, so nice to everyone._ Knuckles, feeling guilt, finally glances at her, the girl who slowly advances in response to his eyes, then quickly drops his gaze once more with a shy frown. _She's so soft. Small_. He could break her like a twig if he is careless with her.

"What's wrong, Knuckie?" She wants to get started already, but it can't seem forced. _Too much talking. There's been too much talking._

"I'm…" In an effort to appear alive he looks around, studying the womanly things but not the woman. The cushiony furniture, the fat pillows, playful shades, warm lighting. The room seems safe, like a child's room. It does nothing to assure him. _She shouldn't be here, doin' this with a man like…_

"A lil' nervous?" she supplies gently, moving to sit beside him, her smaller hands finding his.

Her touch triggers his earnest yearnings._ I gotta be gentle with her, that's all._ His whole body tingles. "I… I dunno… Yeah. Maybe a lil' bit."

"That's okay, sugar." Her skin is so soft. He can feel it when she nuzzles his cheek and breathes her sweet breath, whispering into his mouth, "Don't be."

"I trust you." He smiles lopsidedly, boyishly for such an excellent specimen of a man. "But I… I never… Never done this before… My, um…"

"It doesn't bother me."

"Bothers most folks. But you… You ain't like most folks, Amy. You are so… special-like."

She turns his jaw, kisses him with increasing fervour, her one hand then descending into his lap whilst the other snakes behind his head.

He shudders, moans, lets her grip his mane of red and pull him helplessly back. When she gets on top of him, he surprises himself with how gentle he can be, helping her slip out of the folds of her lovely dress.

Sonic grits his teeth.

* * *

><p>"Rouge, my dear, what a lovely surprise this is!" the bespectacled, bald Sheriff booms cheerily at her from behind his desk, stroking half of his moustache between two scissoring fingers. He smiles toothily and lowers his voice in what passes as seductively. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"<p>

His accent is practically non-existent when he's sober. A foreigner. Hers is inconsistent. Sometimes forgets to say things one way, says them another, then quickly hides the slips with visual distractions. Carefully orchestrated turn of the hips, hand gestures, bright eyes, the show of teeth.

The bat eyes the rug. Every time she enters this office, which she so dislikes, she realises anew how out of place that rug is. Garishly red, it screams for attention in the centre of the tiny office. It goes with the Sheriff so perfectly. She wants to laugh.

"Well?"

"Somethin' I'd like to ask of you."

"You mean, a favour?" He loves the word. Almost sings it, now. He's got a wonderful voice.

"Yeah." Blue-green eyes hide the soul. He can't see through them, like dirty windows. She allows only her cleavage to be revealing. "Somethin' like that."

He sits hunched behind his desk, his skinny legs sticking out from under it, long, polished boots propped by the heels on the red rug. Sleeves rolled up, his skinny forearms glisten with greying hair and sweat. He places both his hands together and rests his chin coyly on the bulging knuckles of his long, skinny, interwoven fingers. His hairless brows are high and mightily amused. "Really, now. Interesting. What would you have of me, dear?"

She turns her ears in a subtly displeasured way. "A…" _What would be the best word?_ "Friend of mine just came into town. He's on your wanted list. I want him off that there list, if you'd be so kind." She does something with her hands that he really likes.

He inclines his head in a gentlemanly fashion and pushes back his chair, retracting his shiny boots to stand from his seat, palms now pressed flat on the desk. "Who is this friend? I'd love to oblige, my dear, but it depends on how… hardened a criminal he is."

Even as a human, he seems too big. Too big for the chair, too big for the desk, too big for the office. The only thing that matches him is the rug, soft and clean and garishly red, screaming for her attention.

"Shadow the hedgehog."

His teeth catch the sunlight. "Wanted for murder. I don't take kindly to killers in my town, dear."

"Sonic is a killer," she reminds him, mildly.

His brows crease together but the saccharine smile remains. "I don't like him, either."

Red, fluffy, clean. She feels almost guilty stepping on it, but guilt is a feeling she doesn't give into often. She squashes the rug beneath her sharp heel as she approaches the fat man's desk. "Are you goin' to drive a hard bargain, honey, or do this ol' friend that favour?"

"Hard bargain," he repeats under his breath with a chuckle, then says more loudly, "I wonder what you'll offer me in return."

"My services."

His grin somehow grows broader. A bead of sweat slowly skims his wrinkled forehead. "You don't say…"

She fights the urge to roll her eyes at that. "I know there's somethin' you want, somethin' you haven't been able to find. Somethin' for your wife. Somethin' she owned."

He stops looking perversely happy, his moustache itself seeming to grow limp as he guiltily ducks his head to gaze upon the urn of her ashes that he keeps on his desk, out of reach of the paperwork. "My… wife." He'd forgotten about her the moment that bat sauntered into his office. "Yes."

"I'll get it, brin' it to you," Rouge says, with silk, "and in return you'll get Shadow off the list. Make the townsfolk aware, make 'em rest easy. I want him able to walk around like he was one of us. I want to be seen with him and not get any flak for that."

"I understand."

"So, it's a deal?"

The Sheriff nods soberly. "Yes. If you can find it, I'll publically announce that he's an innocent man. I'll make sure nothing unfortunate happens to your friend. Although, I don't entirely like the thought of you associating with such a dangerous criminal. You ought to find yourself a nice boyfriend who'll–"

"I'll be keepin' it in mind." Rouge gently places something shiny and round on his desk, letting the chain it is attached to thread slowly through her claws. "But don't worry. I can handle myself."

The Sheriff's wide jaw drops. He snatches up the trinket with a delighted cry. "You found it! I… I was afraid I'd never…" Then he stiffens, his jaw snapping back up. He bares his teeth unpleasantly. "You… You had it? This entire time? And you didn't tell me."

"Actually, no," she says, keeping her husky purr calm, unafraid of the veiled accusation. "I dug it out of the ruins a couple-a days ago and forgot to give it to you."

"I had them searched thoroughly, Rouge."

"I'm a professional. A retired professional."

He slowly curls his fingers around his deceased wife's locket and chain. "You can go now."

"The list, Sheriff. Remember the list."

"I will."

She turns, is about to leave, then pauses, giving him a softer look from over her shoulder. "Thanks, Sheriff." That said, she finally saunters out the door.

He collapses into his chair, threatening to crush it.

* * *

><p>She interrupts his deep thinking mildly enough not to startle him. "No-Name."<p>

Lowering the thumb that had been straightening a crease out of the corner of a particular drawing, the hedgehog turns to face the bat suddenly standing in the room. "How'd y'get in without my noticing?" he asks, intrigued.

"I flew in. Relax."

The window wasn't so wide open before.

"Did y'see the Sheriff?"

"Yes, and you better be pleased because I put Fiona in charge of the saloon while I was gone. The girl is–"

"What did he say?"

"Don't interrupt me," Rouge mutters.

The dark one tips his hat to her. "Pardon."

"The Sheriff says he'll take you off his list. That means the posters will be taken down soon and a public announcement will be made that you're in town and not gonna kill any folks." She saunters over to look at the picture he'd been so engrossed in. "So you'd better behave, because if you go causin' any trouble I'll be in a bad way with the Sheriff."

"Much obliged."

"Now, about my reward…"

He closes his eyes, smiling ever so faintly. "Can y'give me some time to heal, first?"

"Oh, shit. I forgot you got yourself shot." A snap of the fingers makes him open his eyes. "I had to play a dirty card to get you off, back there. And now, I don't get to get off. Fate is a cruel mistress."

"Who's the girl?" he asks, ignoring the innuendo.

Her ears slowly lower, hinting something along the lines of sadness. "A… An old friend." Rouge's eyes seem far less cold and unkind as she moves to fondle a well-worn section of the page. The area just beside the human woman's handsome face. "Someone I cared for when I was just a girl of eighteen. For a while, my best friend."

"I see." _A lover, maybe._ He silently extends a safe fraction of sympathy. "Her name?"

"Topaz." Rouge finally stops her affectionate ministrations and cocks her head at the picture. "Never did get the eyes quite right." _Windows to the–_

"Soul."

A beautiful soul, rendered inadequately in careful lines on a page yellowed with time. One of many souls Rouge has collected over the years.


	3. Recollections

Hi. You don't want to know how many times I rewrote this chapter.

Again, I'd like to say thank you for the reviews. It's very kind of you to take the time. God bless you and I hope you enjoy this update.

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><p><strong>Three<strong>  
><strong>Recollections<strong>

"Now that the Sheriff has publically cleared you of all charges, you thinkin' of taking a little walk about town?" Rouge undoes another button of her shirt, giving herself greater breathing space and providing a distracting view. Secretly, she's testing to see how much of a gentleman her guest might be.

"So long as nobody's gonna shoot me." Shadow doesn't glance at her cleavage, instead meeting her eyes with such ferocity she lowers her own to gaze upon the friendly, silky softness of his fluffy chest. He crosses his arms after a moment, as if self-conscious of it.

_The irony._ She chuckles, hands settling on her sturdy hips. Her lower body is shapely with musculature. "Heh. Probably won't. But you never know for sure." Quirks a brow rather than wagging a joking finger his way. "Be nice to folks, hear?"

"Humph." Wiry and sleek, with an intelligent air in the piercing, broody way he regards the world around him, he physically promises to be nothing but trouble. He eerily stands before her like the ghostly archetype of those bad boys her mother always warned her to steer clear from, being more risky to fraternise with than men who can easily be dominated and controlled.

But Rouge has always enjoyed taking certain risks. "Good boy. Come down when you're ready. Get out of the house and get some fresh air." She saunters from the room in her heavy, sharp leather boots, glossy and white, her confident footfalls sounding like a man's. Her perfume lingers on, as does her melodic humming, filling the room.

After she's been downstairs a while, he takes his hat off the wall and briskly traverses the stairs. They're narrow, worn smooth, polished. A hand grazes the cleanliness of the wooden, carved rail, fingering the occasional desert flower in the design.

He confidently strides into the murmuring belly of the saloon. The air is hot and still, with no breeze filtering through the doors to stifle the heat or stir the tang of the patrons. Upstairs was somehow far cooler and smelled of Rouge, which is a pleasing smell, but he supposes that the number of bodies and bad breath account for the temperature and scent change. He's already uncomfortably sweaty. He hopes he does not smell.

Some heads turn his way. Cuts and bruises mar exposed arms, shoulders hunch over cards, tanned muzzles sport grizzled beards, and he spies an assortment of hats and bare heads, a few of which are balding. Most of the men turn away again, minding their own drinks and business, whilst others brave his fierce glare. Their holstered guns gleam various shades. He's unwelcome here, but tolerated to keep the visibly tenuous peace.

"Hey, Shadow," Rouge says above the noise.

He looks at her.

She suddenly seems irritable and spares him no smiles, but manages a curt wave. "No trouble," she mouths to him before returning to her quiet and seemingly heated words with a pretty young vixen who eyes him like a piece of meat. Evidently the source of the bat's vexation.

With a scoff he moves to leave. _Not No-Name. S'pose it doesn't matter anymore. _

"And keep your hands off the married ones," Rouge says more loudly. "I'm tired of the complaints. Listenin' to me? Look at me when I'm talkin' to you, don't look at him. I'm not scared to smack you in public, girl."

He smiles privately to himself, for a moment, then continues his deep-set grimace. Aloof and powerful, the hedgehog cuts an imposing figure as he strolls between the tables, stools and chairs, ignoring their occupants, straightening his hat and fingering his belt to look more neat.

Finally, he pushes the doors open to the outside. Steps out onto the dirt road, hears them swing shut behind him, and is engulfed by a heatwave. He shields his eyes from the sun, glaring sourly from one end of the road to the other, finding all the houses and stores to look largely alike, nothing standing out the way Amy's house supposedly does. He notices other branching roads to be explored. _I could do with some… boots… that propel me faster. To find that damn–_

Cream, playing with a ball, catches wind of the tail end of his abruptly vocalised thought.

"Rabid, mangy lil' weasel." It comes out all muffled.

She nervously picks up her ball. Her yellow dress is clean, despite her play. The ball in her hands is laden with a fine layer of dust, however, which she absentmindedly wipes off with her thumbs, her focus drawn in entirely by the curious hedgehog. She wonders if he is all right. "S'cuse me, Mister?"

"Not you," is the gruff retort, before he realises he's talking to a little girl. "Oh." He clears his throat, tipping his hat to her with a gentler expression. _Gotta watch that. Can't be seen threatening children._ "Didn't see y'there. Pardon me, Ma'am."

"That's okay." She smiles, pleased by the display of manners. They reassure her immensely. Her mind swaps over to another track that comes to her quickly. "Say, Mister, I haven't seen you around here before. At least, not outside the posters. Are you Mister Shadow?"

"Yeah. I'm new in town."

"Oh, yes, the Sheriff said something like that. Then he took the posters down." She glows heroically. _If he's new… I can't suppose he has any friends, yet. He looks… What's it that Momma says? 'Antisocial, I reckon.' I could be his first friend! The Sheriff says he isn't a bad man… Maybe he's misunderstood. _"Hello, Mister Shadow, I'm Cream."

"Cream? Purdy name."

_He's kinda creepy, but…_ She blushes, won over completely when he offers her his hand. _I like him anyway. _"Thank you!"

There are still bloodstains on the glove. He quickly exchanges the offered hand for the other, cleaner one. "Good to meet you."

They engage in a very adult handshake.

"Likewise." _Back to business._ "Miss Cream, can y'tell me where I can find this here 'hog, Sonic?" Shadow refrains from showing any venom as he says that name. _Sure could save me some trouble searching._ Before he can mention Amy, Cream chips in.

"Yes! He's living with my good friend, Amy Rose." Feeling typically helpful, the young rabbit quickly volunteers herself. "Can I take you to Amy's house?"

"Much obliged." Tips his hat again.

She feels hotter for blushing. "Right this way, Mister Shadow…"

He lets the girl skip ahead, chatting all the while, then follows. Their procession draws quite a few concerned eyes along the way.

"I hope you'll like our town."

He's surprised and appalled that not one adult here stops him from tagging along.

* * *

><p>Knuckles is thinking hard. He does not know for sure how to go about paying a prostitute in a gentlemanly manner. His father never taught him. He tries to follow the example of his stoic but loving father. Eventually, feeling the pause grow uncomfortable, he decides that perhaps the simplest option is best, bowing his shy head whilst timidly extending his balled fist to her. "Here."<p>

Amy, for her part, accepts the money with a practiced smile. The way he looks at her would melt the heart of almost any woman, but her heart, as big as it is, is fully occupied and resolutely faithful to Sonic. "Have a lovely day, now, sugar."

He lifts his head, red locks having fallen before his face. He brushes them out of his spectacular eyes, looking down at her with swimming gratitude. "I will, Amy. Thanks again." Not a man of very many words, he emphasises the few he has with physical gestures. Now, he emphasises them with a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Someone takes a deep breath.

"Keep well, Rosy the Rascal," he murmurs against her, closing his eyes, fighting for the strength to leave her in the big house. He has duties to attend to and she has a job to do.

The impending loneliness bears down on them both, burning in their chests as if threatening to tear their hearts open and spill the contents like rotten fruits with papery skin.

"Haven't been called that since I was a lil' gal."

"You've always been that girl to me."

She breaks away from him with some cultivated finesse. "Run along, Knuckie," she whispers, looking at the skew picture, the small hole in the floral wall. "I've got work to do." She wants to wipe her eyes.

"Right, 'course you do. I just… It's nice. Being with you. Real nice." He feels bad for keeping her idle for so long.

"I know." She doesn't look at him. She can't. Their roles have been played, as far as this act is concerned. "Come back whenever you need me again, sugar."

He reluctantly takes his leave of the room, closing the creamy door quietly behind him. He stares at it for a while. Wants to collapse against it, cave it in, spirit her away from here. _The sin…_ An extended duration is spent in which he screams at himself to rip open that door and rescue her from this life. _You could do it. Take her home… Take her far away. _He lightly paws at the door._ But she'd never wanna leave._

Amy makes no noise. It's as if she's standing perfectly still, waiting for something, or someone, to come to her, rather than going out to do the expected, like meet her next client. She's wondering if he'll come back. Both relieved, and disappointed, when he doesn't.

Sighing, he instead turns and is about to walk away when he's stopped dead in his tracks, frozen to find Sonic leaning against another floral wall with crossed arms and expectant, gorgeous green eyes.

The blue hedgehog smiles sweetly. It's a smile that could set a painfully dying man at ease. "Hey, there, Knucklehead."

But the echidna, despite his private pains, is very much lively. _I dunno what it is about him…_ As Knuckles passes Sonic, he nods to be polite. _But that guy rubs me up all wrong. Sure, he's a hero… Still, I dunno know if I like him. I dunno… I don't think I trust him._

He winks at the red figure's retreating behind. His smirk is an adorably cocky one. When Knuckles is out of sight, he pushes off the wall and opens the door with a whistle. He greets her with a playful embrace, then lets her fall onto the bed with a giggle, moving to his favourite spot by the window.

"Oh, Sonic?" she coos seductively. "Aren't you gonna ask me how it was?"

He chuckles, straddling a chair, reversed. With his rear to her, he leans his front against the curvature of the chair's back and uses the sharp brim as a prop for his arms. His chin rests comfortably on top.

"Aren't you?"

"Nah. Got a headache."

She feels the pang of disappointment. She quickly forgets about it.

Peering casually down on the world from his high vantage point, his green eyes enjoy the beauty of the little wood and dirt town he calls his own, isolated in its rugged, dry surroundings, its shades of wooden brown in the buildings and dirty red in the roads, encapsulated within a cloudy blue globe and lit dazzlingly in a dusty haze under the glare of the sun. "It's so peaceful," he murmurs.

"Of course," she chirrups with adoration, cupping her hands as she watches him from behind watch the world from above. "With you here, why, everybody feels safe for the first time in forever."

He sees two familiar figures coming, but only pays the black one any heed. He gets up from his chair so suddenly it falls to the ground with a crash, startling the room's other occupant.

"Sonic? Sugar? What is it? What's wrong?" She gets up quickly and tries to stroke some sense into him, but her man won't listen. _I've never seen him look so worried before…_ "Speak to me!"_ I don't think I've ever seen him look worried._

He recognises the sharp, angry red glint in that smouldering glare, halved by the brim of an old leather hat, risking setting fire to the ground immediately preceding those agile steps. A bead of sweat sprints down his brow. "Aw, no…" He quickly yanks the curtains shut. "What do I do? He's coming for me…"

She catches on fast. "Hide. I'll get rid of him, whoever he is." Mysteriously, a hammer seamlessly falls from the air heavily into the palm of her hand. "Only one man?"

"No, Amy, this isn't someone ya can handle on your own. I'll… I'll go and speak with him…" Sonic tries to stop her, but half of him, the suppressed, cowardly half he dislikes, the half who doubts, the half he has tried smothering for years, wants her to go out and protect him. So as per a half-hearted effort, he does not try hard enough to stop her from casting him out the way like a child.

"Bull. I may not have been strong enough to stop an army of bandits, sugar, but this 'him' sounds like the singular kind." She marches out with her eyes narrowed and teeth bared. "Wait in here. I'll come for you when I'm done." _He better have a big gun if he wants to get through me to hurt my Sonic, whoever this man is._

Outside, the sun has little mercy.

"Here it is, Mister Shadow. Amy's house."

_Sure is a fancy place,_ he muses, pushing the brim of his old leather hat upward to admire the wooden structure better. Rather than mimicking the varying shades of brown and peeling floorboards that characterise the other rectangular, squatter buildings seen thus far, he notes that the house is strikingly tall and elegantly feminine, its walls primarily a dull, pleasing red, the grain of the wood faintly showing through. Hardy plants grow in the creamy sills of the many narrow windows, which themselves are cleaner than is the norm. Rouge's saloon is the only building comparatively, but not quite, as well-kept. _Must make her jealous._

"Mommy told me that Amy is a 'very busy lady' and to be absolutely sure that she's not at work upstairs when visiting." Cream skips forward and is about to ring the old bell when the door is wrenched open, a furious, frightening pink hedgehog girl in a dress emerging, the little rabbit hurrying out of her way with some fright. "A-Amy!"

Shadow blinks with surprise, then quickly and respectfully takes off his hat to her. "Pardon, Ma'am, but I was told y'could help me to find Sonic–"

"So, you're the one who's bothering my sugar 'hog."

"I… Pardon?" He finally notices the enormous hammer she somehow had walked around with inside her house. _Must be roomy in there._

"You better get lost, Mister." She raises the hammer, which glimmers dully in the sun. Without further warning she brings it down, shattering a neat hole in the ground with enough force to send him stumbling backward.

"Whoa!" He regains his balance, instinctively taking a more battle-ready pose, his hands held aloft, fingers splayed. "Easy. I have no quarrel with–"

"Leave!" she bellows, the hammer growing in size. "Or I will knock you to the other end of town, so help me, god!"

He marvels at it. _How does that even… Is it magic?_ Snaps out of his sense of awe when she takes a more meaningful swing at his head, narrowly dodging the wide blow, skidding out of range. For the moment. "Calm down."

"Do. Not. Tell me to be calm!"

"Okay. That was my mistake."

She snorts steam.

"Ma'am, please. I came a long way to see him. I don't mean to cause y'any trouble."

"Yeah, well, Sonic doesn't wanna see you! So beat it!" Her voice is very loud. She's drawing attention he doesn't want.

"Pardon, Ma'am, but I'm afraid Sonic is going to find me difficult to dissuade. Y'don't have to get involved."

"He's my man," she says simply. After heatedly glaring at him for a few moments longer, she frowns with recognition, rather than blood rage. "Hold on. You're that feller from the wanted posters."

"Shadow," he says, introducing himself with the intention to tip his hat again. He realises that it fell off sometime during the altercation and plucks it off of the ground with as much dignity as he can muster, dusting it off before putting it back on his head. He then successfully tips it. "But the Sheriff cleared me. I'd like to speak with Sonic now, please."

"He clearly made a mistake! Oh, and Cream! I am disappointed!" Amy snaps around to face the wordless youngster, who has enough sense to look ashamed beneath the motherly glower. "What were you thinking? This man is dangerous, sweetie! And you!" She focuses her ferocious look of disapproval back on him, earning a fraction of a flinch. "Who d'you think you are, hanging around a little girl like some creepy pervert! I'm gonna–"

He successfully dodges the initial strike, but she surprises him with her speed. She dances, or seems to, into his path, blocking his escape. "Wait!"

With the stretched hilt of her hammer she jabs outward, stabbing into his midsection with enough force to throw him onto his back.

He groans, winded, and remains largely motionless for a moment or two before rolling to his feet unsteadily, his stiches on fire. Cautious, probing fingers discover that the wound has reopened and is bleeding profusely. Hot and sticky. He remembers Rouge's warning, now. _She… is going to be real mad with me._

A small crowd has already formed.

"Amy, no! Please, stop it!" Bravely, Cream steps between the two combatants, blocking any clear shot at each other. "Mister Shadow is a nice man! Sure, I haven't known him for very long, but… But you haven't known Sonic very long, either!"

The pink hedgehog deflates a little under the weight of that logic. "But… I love him…"

"That is no excuse to hurt people," the rabbit says strongly, reaching over to help him stand more steadily. "Please, both of you. No fighting. I hate it so much."

"That's all this place was before Sonic," Amy says quietly, unnervingly calmly. She lowers her hammer, placing it headfirst into the ground with a dull thud. "I won't let anyone hurt him. But he's not one for squabbling. So… I guess, If Cream is so sure about you, and I trust her judgement…" A reluctant huff. "Tell me what you want with him and I might consider letting you see him, but I'll be watching. No funny stuff, hear?"

"We have things left to take care of."

"'Things'? Like what?"

"Personal business we left unfinished."

"Too evasive. Be specific or be gone."

"It's okay, Amy. I'll see him."

All eyes fall on Sonic, now standing in the doorway.

"Sugar… Are you sure? I don't like this man at all."

"Nah, he's not so bad." He undoes the knot of his vibrant red bandanna that he wears loosely around his neck, then takes slow, steady steps toward Shadow, who bristles and nearly snarls.

"Y'hide behind your lady friend, then come for me when I'm hit, eh? Coward."

"Shush. Let me help ya."

"Get away from me."

Ignoring him, the blue hedgehog bends over and carefully peels the black hedgehog's hand away from the wound, exposing it to the air. "I'm sorry this happened," he murmurs, sounding genuine.

A pained hiss, but strangely, no resistance. "Yeah, well, it was all y'fault."

"Mmhm." Sonic gently places the bandanna over the wound, being surprised further when he is allowed to tie the fabric around the slender frame he knows so intimately. Closes his eyes. He inhales Shadow, then opens them again. White chest fur is in his face as he begins to stand straight again.

Tumbleweed gently batters a corner of the house.

"Let's get ya over to Rouge."

There is no answer, even as the two men regard each other with familiarity and churning emotions.

"That bell's a real pain, Ames. Let's get rid of it."

"I… But, Sonic…"

"Thank ya for protecting me, but I'm okay, now," he says with an affectionate smile aimed in her direction before he looks back to his old comrade, placing an uncertain hand on Shadow's arm. "Thanks, Cream. I'll take him from here."

The rabbit lets her charge go, moving to stand beside Amy who is equally confused.

"I don't need y'help."

"C'mon. Before ya faint and embarrass me."

"I'm going as fast as I can."

"Want me to carry ya?"

"Don't y'dare."

The crowd dissipates, allowing Cream and Amy to watch the male hedgehogs walk back to the saloon, sensing that they don't want to be followed.

"Men sure are complicated critters, aren't they?"

"Yes. Yes, sweetie, they are."

* * *

><p>"How'd things go?" Rouge asks, recognising Shadow's heartbeat without looking up from her papers. She detects Sonic's as well and this makes her curious, but she pretends she isn't. <em>Kissed and made up, I expect. I'd sure pay to see that. <em>"Heh. No trouble?"

"I'll be needing some of that there, uh… medical attention again, ma'am."

She releases a lengthy sigh which, truthfully, she's been holding in all day up until now. _Feels good to be myself. My facial muscles are sore from pretend-smilin' at drunk idiots._ She lowers the papers and surveys the damage with a cursory look-over. "Take him upstairs. I'll be there shortly."

Sonic has the decency to smile at her. "Thanks, Doc."

"Don't mention it. And you. I thought I said no trouble."

"Pardon." Shadow fans himself with his hat, pale for a change.

* * *

><p>He's in a strange place.<p>

The cacti stretch skyward. They seem to puncture the heavens, their swollen arms heavy with yellow flowers, shimmering, losing their petals one by one. The night shimmers. Every star winks in and out of existence. The stretch of landscape spouts steam from the ground. There is a slight tremble beneath his feet. He hears the earth crack open.

He doesn't see any of this, however. His eyes are focused on the one familiar thing in this world. The fire of their camp, burning strongly before him, which provides no warmth, precious little light.

"Howdy, sunshine," is the seductive whisper near his ear.

He stiffens, staring into the fire. _That voice. That… bastard!_

"What's wrong? Ya look a lil' flustered there, partner," says the figment of his past, flirtatiously.

He wants to move. To move violently, but he stands frozen with his head downturned to study the fire in the centre of their camp, helplessly sensing the impending disaster of those familiar hands as they grope him from behind. _It happened like this before… I made a mistake…_

A humming sound is dimly audible, echoing in the distant background. It's in a different voice. It was never a part of the memory and now it intrudes, the woman's voice.

"How 'bout a massage?" The humming continues regardless of the talking, confirming that there is someone else here. "That always makes ya relax." Those hands move to intimately settle on his waist, then stroke higher up, playing silent piano keys along his ribcage. Moving around, dexterous fingers cage together to ensnare him, sinking like claws deep within his chest fur.

He searches for a way to fight back. He can't. His body is lulled with trust but his mind is awake to the danger.

"Shadow. I love ya."

The dream changes. This isn't how it happened.

The hands carve him open.

He finds his voice, seizes it, yanks it out. "No!" Sits up with a cry, eyes wide open, gasping for breath.

Footsteps quickly narrow in on his location, then pause. A polite knock on the door. "You okay in there?" says Rouge.

He's too deep in his mind to respond. He remembers fragments of it, the sex, the promises, the love, the betrayal.

Finally the door is pushed open upon his silence, the bat peering into the dark room. When she brings a candle before her nose, the light startles him out of his thoughts. She doesn't need the light to see in the dark, but from experience she finds that patients don't like being surprised. "Shadow?"

The freshly re-stitched wound burns and he protectively covers it, ducking his head with discomfiture. "I…" The word comes out quivering. He forces himself to sound strong. "I'm fine." He quickly checks behind his back, finding the pillows empty.

"A bad dream?" She invites the rest of herself into the room, gracefully taking a seat on the edge of the bed with the candle in its little holder balancing on her knee, her long fingers keeping it steady, eyes on the tiny flame.

"Yeah." He rubs his quills, smoothing them. "Did I, uh, wake y'up?"

"Nah." She smiles slightly at that. It's the way he said it, rather than what he said. _Not such a hard man, maybe._ "I'm an insomniac. I tend to… patrol the place at night."

"Patrol?" He ponders over that. It's what she said, rather than the way she said it. _Like she doesn't feel safe._

Following that, there's very little talking.

She sits with him until he relaxes enough to fall back to sleep, then slips out the open door, closing it carefully in her wake. "Sweet dreams from now on, kiddo."

He doesn't visibly respond to her resumed humming.


	4. Craving

Thanks for the reviews! I'm sorry about the late update. Last few days have been a little rough for me over here.

Please enjoy, and have a wonderful new year. God bless you.

* * *

><p><strong>Four<br>Craving**

Sonic's red bandana is clean and neatly folded. It adds a splash of colour to the little bedside table, alongside a fresh pair of gloves. Shadow notices his hat is hung on the wall. Evidently, Rouge saw fit to make preparations whilst he slept.

Having ensured that the bedding has been smoothly tucked into place and the pillows are fluffy and in order, making it seem as if the bed was never occupied, Shadow carefully takes the corner of the bandana and brings it before his eyes.

He watches it unfurl before him in its vibrant, familiar glory. He rubs the old fabric between his bare fingers, amused by the occasional tear and frayed edge. _Seen a lot of action over the years. _A familiar internal twinge. _He told me he's seen the world, thrice over. Said he'd… Nah. Full of hot air._

_Faker. _The black hedgehog pictures a cocky smirk and gleaming emerald as he lifts the bandana to his nose and inhales. Feeling a tingling sensation creep along his spine he closes his eyes and resists clenching the token of Sonic's memory in his fist.

Instead Shadow ties the bandana around his neck and strokes it into place. He's angry, but he feels something else, a softer emotion. He then puts on the gloves and moves to pluck his old leather hat off of the nail in the wall. It shines, as if polished.

He places it carefully on his head and closes the door behind him, treading lightly in search of his hostess. It doesn't take him long to find her.

Although his manners tell him to knock, he instead stealthily makes himself comfortable. The black hedgehog is perfectly content to watch from the periphery, leaning against the doorframe to her room. He recognises the subtle scratching of a charcoal stick on rough paper.

Rouge is absorbed in another drawing, sitting motionless save for the measured strokes of her right hand. She sits on the stool with her back to him, elegantly straight, its tanned, taut flesh exposed to him by the hole cut out of her crisp shirt that both cools her down and admits greater freedom for flying on occasion, whenever she lets the mood take her. Currently her black, leathery wings are neatly at rest.

They engage in a tranquil standstill.

He is unable to see much of the page she labours over. _I wonder whose soul it is this time. _His eyes wander to trace the amusing outline of her big ears. He wonders, also, whether those are erogenous zones for bats. Taking another deep breath, he enjoys her peculiar fragrance. _Not like Sonic's. She's more…_ A silent search for the right word. He can't find it. It seems to evade his grasp. Thinking about Sonic makes Shadow feel uncomfortably conflicted, so he pushes the hedgehog out of his mind once more.

Her ears are angled forward, as if listening to the signs of life beyond the rectangular window which admits the morning sunlight. She hums whilst she works.

He traces the tempo of her humming, noting the carefully measured highs and lows. _Decent voice,_ he thinks._ Maybe she's an entertainer._

She pauses for a quick stretch of the arms, her hum morphing into a pleasured sigh, then back into a hum. Her hands reach for the ceiling. She twirls the charcoal stick between her fingers inattentively for several seconds, apparently absorbed in thought, then brings it down to her drawing once more and resumes.

He quirks a brow. _A woman shouldn't always be so… poised. Never stopping to pick her nose. _He smiles at the mental image.

As if able to read his thoughts, the bat ends her hum abruptly with a throaty chuckle. She speaks quietly, huskily. "Good mornin' back there, handsome." Then says more loudly, "Gonna stand there and stare much longer? Not that I mind an audience."

His smile broadens a tips his hat to her, even though she can't possibly have eyes in the back of her head to appreciate it. "Morning."

She does, however, hear the rustling of his hat and casts him a friendly glance from over her shoulder, welcoming him to approach her. "How you feelin'?" She returns to her work as she says this.

"Good." Rising from his place against the doorframe, he casually strolls over to join her at her right side, hiding the fact that his wound is still a bit tender. More sincerely he adds in a murmur, "Thanks for patching me up."

"Again," she retorts drily. "It's what I do."

He nods. "Headed down soon?"

"Nah." She's impeccable, but the desk, in contrast, is a mess of paper stacks and charcoal sticks of variable thicknesses, lengths and duskiness. A fine layer of black dust colours her fingertips. "I'm feelin' a bit under the weather. Fiona's runnin' the show downstairs."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that."

"Nothin' a kiss wouldn't cure."

He ignores her flirtation, studying the flattering depiction of himself.

"Don't pretend like you didn't hear me."

He gestures to the drawing. "That's real nice."

"Doesn't beat the real thing." Amused, she completes the details of the chest hair with a flourish.

He notices the vibrant red marks on her inner arm, exposed by a rolled-up shirtsleeve. "You're hurt."

"Oh, that? Do me a favour, handsome. Go say hi to Fiona sometime. She's, heh, been a bit friskier than usual since catchin' wind of you."

"I don't… Are those… bite marks?"

"Safe to say, I think I'll just try and get some peace and quiet. Maybe go for a lil' flight about the wasteland." Rouge's mysterious smirk fuels his imagination.

"She bit you?"

"Never you mind. Unless that sorta stuff makes you excitable."

He tries to change the subject. "Fiona…" He realises that he has not picked a very distant track. "She that fox girl that got y'feathers ruffled yesterday?"

"The very same. And I know she'd like to ruffle yours."

"Fiona's a bit, uh… Bit young to be working here, don't y'think?"

"Yeah, well. She's got nowhere else to go."

He folds his arms. "Y'responsible for the girl?"

"Sorta." The charcoal stick momentarily pauses. Rouge deliberates her drawing. "Sometimes I reckon I'm the only fool in this town who tolerates her nonsense, aside from the nicest of folks." The bat's brow delicately creases. "Sonic's taken quite a likin' to her, much to Amy's fury. She and Fiona never liked each other much, but it's mighty heated, now. I think Big Blue enjoys the attention from both sides."

Shadow's unease, which had seeded itself in his belly upon hearing the blue hedgehog's name, grows until he feels suddenly squeamish. _Get my hands on the bastard. _He absentmindedly fingers the bandana. _Whatever happens, I've got to end this._

Rouge watches him in her peripheral vision, curious. "You okay?"

"I…" He corrects himself. "Fine."

_I see._ She adds a few strokes with her charcoal.

"Big Blue?"

"On account of his ego and colourin', see."

"Suits him." Shadow clears his throat.

She sits back, placing the stick on the table. She rubs two dusty fingers together whilst surveying her work. "Finished."

Forgetting Sonic, Shadow bends down slightly to take a better look. The illustration of himself is acutely lifelike. Severe angles, fierce streaks, a brilliant scowl. The lovingly detailed chest entertains him somewhat. Although the illustration's hat obscures much of the eyes, the smouldering glare that remains impresses him. His copy's attention seems focused just over his shoulder, at some spot on the wall.

"Well?"

"Looks like me. Though the hand on the hip…" He carefully picks up the page and tilts it to peer at it even more closely and at an angle appropriate for study. "A bit feminine, don't y'think?"

For an instant she openly grins, then adopts a more respectfully deadpan expression when his eyes dart upward to stare upon her from over the edge of the page. She lifts her large hand to stroke the length of her jaw down to her chin, forgetting that her fingers are covered in charcoal dust.

He politely resists snickering as she has inadvertently smeared herself a light beard.

"See, it was drawn from memory."

"Some fine memory."

"Sure, but it's not perfect. I always aim for perfection." Her ears perk. "Say, I could draw another. This time maybe… Hmm." She rubs her muzzle again, darkening her beard, frowning with thought. Her cool eyes glide from his to study the window, then the ceiling, and finally snap back to the hedgehog. "You could pose for me." She wiggles her brows.

He blinks, mildly interested, if only because of the bat's sudden animation.

She snaps her fingers. "A fine idea! You could maybe pose on your back. I could give you props to work with. Maybe you'll be tangled up in some rumpled bed sheets…" She lets her eyelids lower. "Maybe you'll be tied up a lil' bit."

His brow arches to the point of vanishing beneath his hat.

"Oh, c'mon. Doesn't it sound fun?"

"I'm still in recovery."

"The ropes won't be tight…"

He gently places the drawing before her and straightens himself to stand at his full height. "I didn't know y'were into that," he murmurs, unintentionally giving voice, however subtle, to his thought. The playful and teasing look she gives him now makes him realise that she heard it plainly. He doesn't mind. _Didn't know I was into that._

"I'm into plenty." Pushing her stool back, she gracefully rises from her seat and subtly glances down at herself. Her tanned, ample bosom almost glows in the sun that pools upon her warmly. To both her pleasure and annoyance, he valiantly does not ogle her like every other man in town, passing the test again. _I like a challenge._ "But that's a conversation that might take a while."

She is entirely unaware of her charcoal beard, even as she turns to seductively regard him from beneath her heavy lashes. Looking calmly back at her, he imagines that, with less makeup and upper body weight, she'd make an oddly handsome man.

"Neither of us is much one for talkin' though," she purrs, sliding the drawing off of her desk. She fishes for a tack and saunters over to a bare patch of wall. With some strength she forces the tack in place and when finished neatening the placement of the picture, she steps back to admire it. She wipes a smudge off of one corner. "We're more physical creatures. How's that?"

He steps beside her. "Good."

They stand together in companionable silence.

A hand settles over his backside.

"Rouge."

She squeezes, hard.

"Y'have charcoal on your face," he says mildly.

Blinking rapidly a few times she releases him, rubbing at her muzzle with the back of her groping hand, blackening it. "Shoot." She frowns down at the marks. The humour of the situation does not escape her. She, if anything, helps it along. "All this time?"

"Mmhm."

"Great."

"Looks like a beard."

"Was I handsome?"

"It suited y'somewhat."

She laughs at that. "You cheeky varmint. I saw you lookin' at me funny-like earlier and I thought it was just the romance gettin' to your head. But you were havin' a private joke at my expense."

He shrugs.

"Now you can git downstairs," she grumbles, unable to resist sounding halfway amiable. "I said git, boy. Before I tan your good lookin' hide for a new pair-a boots."

"Get some rest," he replies gently, remembering her prior comment about the weather. He also remembers Sonic, again, with another pang. Being able to sometimes willingly forget is how he survives. He does not know it, but he shares this trait with Amy, to a lessor extent. "Can I get y'anything from town?" Unlike her, he tries not to keep Sonic a solid fixture in his mind. Shadow is trying to forget him, now, and struggling.

"More candles, please. Now get goin' and leave me to be handsome on my own."

Hiding his internal unease he smirks, tipping his hat to her. "Ma'am."

She nods once, still faintly bearded, and watches his slender backside as it strolls out her door. _Nice that he has a sense of humour,_ she muses sardonically. _Even if I was the butt end of the joke. Butt. Heh-heh._

He makes his way downstairs, the floorboards creaking. Once in sight of Fiona he strolls over to speak to her. "Morning."

She's small, sleek and gorgeous. Her little eyeteeth show. She doesn't seem very charmed by the tip of his hat. Rather it is his chest hair, sticking out from under the striking red bandana, that entrances her. She continually aims unsubtle glances downward as she leans forward on the bar, a nearby patron losing himself in her cleavage. Her bushy tail swishes.

She takes a while to say anything, allowing the black hedgehog before her to grow mildly uncomfortable first. "Hi, guest. Enjoying your stay?"

"Very much, thanks." He relaxes. "Headed to town. Need something?"

"You our new errand boy, huh? I'm impressed." He quickly learns that she seems to drawl rather than speak at a typical pace. The leisurely roll of her words, one after the other, is both seductive and vexing. Already he can all but taste her confidence and vanity, as well as the sexual tension that radiates off of her. She ultimately lacks the subtlety and charm of her employer. "The boss really does have her way about men."

"Rouge has been mighty gracious."

"Uh-huh. I don't need anything from town. I'm Fiona, by the way."

"Shadow."

"Awful pleased to meet you."

"Likewise." He straightens his hat with an inward grimace. "Ma'am." He readies himself to quickly take his leave for the heat outside, only for a blue figure to materialise after the inward swing of the doors. The timing could make him roll his eyes.

Sonic takes a moment to scan the heads of the patrons before spotting Shadow, who is, for a change, openly surprised. He grows flushed.

"Hi, Sonic," Fiona offers after some staring.

"Good morning!" he chirrups in return, pretending to be completely unbothered. "How's business with ya?"

"Good, good."

He looks about the saloon once more. "Where's our favourite Doc?"

"Upstairs. Left me in charge for today."

"Ooh. Fun!"

The vixen giggles. "Oh, Sonic. Don't let her hear."

The black hedgehog fights back the tumult inside him, forcing himself to externally appeal calm and aloof. He powerfully marches toward the doors.

"Ah, bye, Fiona!"

She waves with a wink.

Sonic quickly reaches over to touch his arm, following Shadow outside. "How ya feeling?" he asks, murmuring to be private.

The answer is implied in silence.

"Look, I know we–"

"Humph!"

"Easy. Let's talk. That's why you came here, right? Wanna go for a run?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Okay, okay. So. Where are ya headed?"

"Going to buy candles."

"Oh. That's technically not a place, ya know."

They walk some paces along the dusty road without further comment, milling townsfolk and wooden buildings with swinging signs bearing witness.

"Would ya at least look at me?"

Shadow, having walked as fast as possible with the distraction of both the pain inside, pain of his side and the talking pain beside him, suddenly stops and glares ferociously at Sonic.

The hero gleams with sweat for so early in the morning. Evidently he's already done much running. He does that to clear his head, to exhilarate and calm himself. His red, buckled boots are dirty. His face is young, swept with a light layer of sand, mischievously attractive and, for now, angelically earnest. His eyes threaten to draw their beholder into them.

"I came here to settle our old score. Don't try to make friends with me."

"Yet you're not attacking me."

"I can't. Rouge pulled some strings for me to stay here. Innocent people could get hurt. Just watch y'back."

"But… I thought… C'mon, Shadow. Yesterday, we–"

"Walked back to the saloon in silence. Nothing was resolved."

"Shadow…"

"Y'just wanted to feel like less of a coward by helping me, and I let y'do it."

"Why did ya?"

"I don't know why."

"I think it's because ya still care."

"Shut your mouth. I didn't need y'help yesterday. I needed y'help that other time. Y'remember?"

A flinch. "Of course I do. How could I forget? Look. I know I did ya wrong. I–"

"'Wrong'?" A scoff. "Y'left me to die."

Sonic squeezes his suddenly moist eyes shut. He bows his head, hating the burn of being scolded for cowardice rather than praised for heroism.

Shadow bristles with anger, feeling no sympathy. "What was it y'said to me once? What was it y'said, traitor?"

A tentative hand reaches out, the blue hedgehog sinking his fingers into his red bandana.

"Well?"

"I love you. I said… I love you."

"Y'faker." Disgusted, Shadow slaps the hand aside and hurriedly pulls the knot loose, yanking off the bandana, tossing it into the other's face. "I was going to leave it for later, but y'pissed me off. Fight me like a man. No more running and hiding behind pink girls in dresses."

Sonic gradually reveals his face from behind the fabric, his mouth open as if to plead, but no words reveal themselves. He's trying to be brave in the familiar face of danger.

"I won't make a scene in town. If it wasn't for Rouge, I would kill y'where you stand." A gloved finger jabs at a distant landmark. "Meet me by that far-off rock. See it?"

"Don't do this, Shadow."

"Y'have a few minutes. Prepare y'self. Don't make me wait. Don't bring y'lady friend or anybody else. This is between us."

"This isn't…"

"Be there."

Those green eyes are now downcast.

The darker of the two skulks off to find a shop that sells candles. Upon meeting the salesman, Shadow then realises that he has no money.

* * *

><p>The wind feels good.<p>

With a beat of her wings Rouge rises ever higher, souring toward a mass of clouds. She bursts through them, emerging above the rim and jungle of Angel Island.

She lands at the altar. "Hey, Knucklehead!"

There is no response.

She feels disappointment, but hurriedly shakes it off. _The one time he'll ever leave his post undefended. Gone to see Amy. _She gives the Master Emerald a sorely tempted look over.

Not too long ago, she would've taken it without a care for the consequences. Today, she grumpily directs her attention to the bulging fruits in the flowering treetops. She fills the sack at her hip, securely fastens it, then spreads her wings. With one final despondent gaze upon the enormous jewel, glowing and shimmering at the altar's apex, she kicks off and flaps once for momentum, easily soaring skyward.

She dives over the edge. The exhilarating drop arouses instinctual responses. She closes her eyes. Her echolocation shapes the landscape beyond their reach. She evens out her descent.

She hears a harsh exchange of words under the whistling wind in her ears and senses the shape of two figures below her. She darts out of their sight. Normally she'd leave folks to their business, except the altercation seems like it's about to become a showdown and she recognises its participants.

Landing atop a towering rock, she opens her eyes, perched comfortably to watch them from above their heads.

"I don't wanna fight ya." Sonic sighs, appearing torn. "I don't wanna hurt ya."

She's noticed that Shadow doesn't seem to ever carry a gun in his belt. Neither does Sonic. _Are they goin' to fistfight?_

A bright flash from below startles and mesmerises her. The loud bang that follows makes her fold her ears back. "What the–?"

The dust clears, as if swept away by a wind, revealing the blue hedgehog first, who stands in a different spot from moments before, a horrified expression written in his face and tense bodily posture. The ground where he stood before is now scorched.

The black hedgehog has not moved. His hand is raised, fingers sparking. It's as if he summoned the blast.

She gapes. _How…?_

"Ya don't have an Emerald!"

She sits further forward.

Another flash, another bang. The dust is stirred.

Her eyes follow a blue blur as it bursts from the cloud. Sonic dodges the series of explosions caused by bolts of green lightning that Shadow somehow draws from the atmosphere and holds in his hand before throwing them with frightening accuracy in spite of his opponent's agility and speed.

"The townsfolk might hear them at this rate." _And that idiot'll probably reopen his stitches._ The thought of Shadow being seriously injured, let alone killed, upsets her. "Hey!" she bellows, going unheard. She has a voice that can go undetected by most other animals, or rise to a pitch potent enough to burst eardrums. She readies herself for another cry.

Before she can utter a sound, the blue hedgehog leaps onto the side of the rock she sits upon, clinging to the craggy surface only a short drop below her hiding place, then throws himself to the ground behind the black hedgehog who, having been taken off-guard, isn't quick enough. Sonic grabs Shadow from this position, holding him in place with astounding strength. "Enough!"

"Geddoff!"

"I've gotten better since then!"

She wonders what that could mean.

"I've been… I've been brave!" Between grunts and skidding heels it's a struggle to speak. "Since that day… I wanted to be a better man. I have been a better man."

"I'll rip y'apart, faker!"

"That's why I got rid of the bandits and made a home here. I thought ya were dead, but… I wanted to be better anyway, so ya might rest in peace. Believe me, Shadow. I'm not lying."

"Bullshit."

"It's true. I ran from your ghost, but now, I… It's so good to see ya alive… Shadow." Sonic lets him go, vanishing due to his speed when another flash threatens to consume him, leaving behind the breeze of his exit which sucks away the disturbed dust.

"I'm gonna skin y'alive."

"I'm sorry, Shadow," is the quiet admission. "That's what ya want to hear, isn't it?"

Panting for breath, their bodies are reddened by dust and gleam under the harsh sun.

"I'm sorry for what I did to ya. I'm sorry for everything."

Shadow says nothing, looking Sonic up and down with disbelief. His hand, steaming visibly, twitches.

"I'm a bastard. But give me another chance. I've been doing good 'round here. These people…" A weak gesture toward the distant town. "They look up to me. They need a hero. Somebody to keep the peace. And Amy… If ya kill me, she'll be devastated."

"That's it? That's all y'can say?"

"No. One more thing. The thing ya really need to hear."

She forgets to breathe in the suspense of the moment.

"I meant what I said to ya before. On that night."

"Oh, yeah? And what was that?"

"I did love ya. And I still do."

Shadow takes a sharp breath inwards, his enraged scowl bending crookedly, shaped by unfiltered pain.

Sensing an opening, Sonic closes the distance, taking off his bandana as he does so. He gently ties it around the other's neck. "Keep this. Ya know how much it means to me. I want ya to have it."

"Back off."

He cups one tanned cheek. With a loving smile he leans in and tenderly kisses the other. "Shush."

"Don't shush me." The darker of the two growls to save face, only to be defeated by those green eyes which flutter their lashes. His weakened defences crumble with a nuzzle under his jaw.

"I missed ya so much."

The bat swallows. Aroused.

Pent-up loneliness and desire soften Shadow until he melts into an embrace.

Sonic kisses him soundly. His hand fondles a triangular black ear.

Shadow's eyes are almost shut, forming red slits of ecstasy.

Unnoticed, Rouge departs.

* * *

><p><em>Sonic.<em> Amy gazes up at the ceiling. _He's been so distant with me since that creepy black hedgehog came 'round. _She blinks slowly. _It's like there's something important he's not telling me._

He's been out a while. At least, she's fairly sure he's still out.

_He barely touched me last night. _She resists the urge to cry. _What's going on, Sonic? Does he… Does he not love me anymore, all of a sudden?_

"Darlin'?"

"Yes, Knuckie." She sounds drained.

"What is it?" He sounds concerned.

She looks at the other occupant of the bed, his thumb circling her bellybutton. "Oh, nothing. Just…" She thinks about how she should phrase this. Wonders whether it's appropriate to be so revealing about her personal life with a client, even if he is a friend.

"Yes?" he prompts her, carefully. He can detect that whatever it is that's on her mind, it's something that requires a particularly sensitive approach. Truly, the echidna is a highly sensitive being. He merely hides this fact from other people, because in order to be an effective guardian, he must not be exploitable.

Ultimately, however, she sighs, rubbing her tired eyes. "Never mind me, sugar. It's nothing."

"I don't mind. And it sure ain't nothing if it makes you look so sad-like." He gazes at her sweetly, his head moving to share her pillow. "You can tell," he whispers against her nose, kissing it, making her smile genuinely. "I can keep a secret. Who knows? Maybe I've been through something similar."

"I guess…"

"So?" He tickles her gently in the ribs, earning a giggle.

"All right. I'll tell you." She settles more comfortably with her chin atop his chest, his one hand stroking the length of her back, the other playing with her warm little fingers. "As best as I can."

"I'm listening."

"Have you ever felt like the one you love is far away from you? Not necessarily all the time, but… sometimes. Recently. Since someone else came along."

He frowns, considering her words.

"Like, no matter how loud you shout…" She traces the crescent birthmark, feels his irresistible, muscular frame. "They just can't hear you through all that distance. Like they put themselves far away on purpose."

"I'm sorry, Ames. Can't say I know the feeling."

"Didn't expect you to, sweetie."

He grinds his teeth a bit. "Sonic, huh?"

She quickly pushes herself up, gazing at the wall with conviction. "He's wonderful, don't misunderstand. He's just been a little withdrawn."

Knuckles doesn't try to argue.

The sheets are silky, the pillows soft and devouring.

* * *

><p>"Sheriff," greets an oblivious passer-by.<p>

He whispers an apology, unable to face the ashes spilled over the floor.

He didn't mean to drop her. He'd thought she might like some fresh air after being cooped up all day. It breaks his heart to see her like this. It ruins him to think that he has caused it.

He's sitting outside with his one elbow at rest on his little table. He stoops over, gazing mournfully into his mostly empty glass. The dregs reflect the full moon just as it begins its conquest of the emerging night sky. It's bright, he notes, as well as cold and beautiful. It seems like it couldn't care for his suffering.

She wasn't at the saloon to greet him today. Just that little fox whore. All those infernal animals. They lack finesse and culture. He despises them. Wants to rise above them. Is mocked by them for his ineptitude and degeneration.

The moon often reminds him of Rouge, who often occupies his mind. Except he knows better than that. In the sober recesses, he knows that she is no moon. She does care. They have too much history for her not to care, if even so slightly.

His trembling fingers stroke the length of the bottle beside him, which is mostly empty, hard and cold. He dares not move his bare foot for fear of disturbing the shards. Her ashes are like cold, gritty sand.

He is plagued with chilly guilt for desecrating her, an intense and burning hatred for himself, a throbbing, constant longing for Rouge, and most of all, his own taunting ambitions.

Shakily he gets up. Stumbling, he leaves his bottle behind and conquers the short array of stairs. He treads slowly. People are used to seeing him this way. They pay him no mind. After a little wandering he meets the border between the wastes and his little town.

His right hand finds the fence, gripping it tightly, then loosely. He sways on his heels. He silently watches water gather in the furrows between his fingers and knuckles. A rare, melodramatically timed downpour. It's as if the gods themselves are scornful or pitying of him.

Slowly he upturns his eyes, his glasses becoming steamy and speckled. In his left hand he lifts his drinking glass to the heavens, gathering rain within it. He feels the glassy, cool beads trail down his bare, hairy arm. Like the tears in his lashes, the raindrops are trapped within the red hair.

"To ya, m'dear."

The moon remains aloof.

He feels his arm fall slackly at his side. The little glass falls into the beginnings of mud. His right hand leaves the fence and moves toward his hip. His fingers hang suspended over the butt of the loaded gun.

He'd never use it, though. He cannot let go.


End file.
